


cradle me (i'll cradle you)

by liionne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Skinny Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8611324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: He buries himself under the pillows and cushions he'd been given, and hides. He does manage to hear the door to his room open and close, and he frowns, only burrowing further into the lumpy mattress.
One cushion is removed, the one right over his face, and James looks down at him, looking like he's about to burst out laughing. "Time to take your vitals, Mr. Rogers."
"Fight me."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://stuckyficprompts.tumblr.com/post/121372168870/officialcadbane-ohsebs-ohsebs-ohsebs-my) because I couldn't help myself. I have no idea what the word count on this is, but maybe I'll develop it into something more if people want it.
> 
> Apologies for spelling errors, it's currently 2am and my bed is calling me. I don't currently have a beta, because I don't know if it would be worth - my writing is a little spotty these days, and not at all as regular as it used to be, but if anyone is really interested in helping me out I'd certainly appreciate it!

Steve is no stranger to hospitals; he knows them pretty damn well, actually. He was sick almost constantly as a child, heart problems and lung problems and bone problems, growth problems, god knows his file at the doctor's office is the size of an encyclopedia. But of course, if he wasn't in a hospital bed he was running (or at least, walking a little faster than usual) around them as his mother worked - daycare was too expensive for a single mother, and the underneath of the nurse's station desk was totally free.

The instances of him being admitted to hospital, and hanging around in one, got a lot less as he got older. He was still in once every couple of months, enough to be on first name terms with the majority of the staff, but he wasn't there almost every day as he had once been. His mother, on the other hand, made up for the time Steve had spent outside of the hospital. Steve spent a lot more time around the hospital when his mother was in it, and then he decided he wasn't going back once she'd been moved out of it, albeit into the cemetery a few blocks over.

Except when he had a really bad asthma attack going up the stairs at work the other day. Working at a graphic design company is wonderful - the fact that it's on the fourth floor of an old red brick with no elevator is not. Hence why he's now back in the hospital, doctors crowding around him, a few smiling apologetically as they prod and poke at him. It was just an asthma attack - that's what he'd told Sam, one of the guys from the therapy place downstairs, as he tried to catch his breath. Admittedly he hadn't been able to, even with his inhaler, and he'd then gotten really jittery, lost the ability to talk and fainted, but he was _fine_. Why would no one listen to him?

Probably because he still couldn't talk, but whatever. His crossed arms and narrowed eyes should be enough to dispel all of them.

He notices a few of the doctors part, and a guy he assumes is a nurse move through the crowd. He's tall, and he's kinda buff, and Steve can see the curve of his biceps through the frankly skin-tight black shirt he has on under his scrubs.

Steve hopes this guy is his nurse. Like, a lot.

"Here-" He says, and his voice is soft, low, as gentle as the grey eyes he directs at Steve. A few strands of dark hair fall into his face from the knot at the nape of his neck, and Steve would like to make a pun about his breath being taken away, if it hadn't already been, quite literally. "Glass of water for you. Try to drink it - these lot'll want you to keep hydrated." He says, and he smiles as he leaves, pushing through the gaggle of doctors once more.

They all disperse once they're done speculating and asking Steve if he's okay, and when Steve croaks out a 'don't you have lives to save?' they consider him well enough to be left alone. He's Sarah Rogers' boy. They aren't going to skimp on his medical care - and anyway, breathing problems makes him an emergency case.

Once they're gone, Steve is left to relax, a drip in the back of his hand and a machine monitoring his vitals close by, the beeping already becoming boring rather than irritating. From where he lies, if he turns his head, he can see the nurse's station. And he can see that nurse, the one that he absolutely, definitely has not seen before - he'd remember, he's sure of that. He wish he'd gotten his name; he should've looked at his badge, but he was just a little bit preoccupied.

All he's doing is sitting at the desk, typing something up on a computer. He's not even doing anything exciting. But Steve is enraptured, his eyes lingering on him, and when Renee comes in to check his vitals and deliver his dinner that evening he makes sure to ask - not that he's really up to talking yet.

"Who's he?" He asks, nodding to him through the glass.

"Ah," The nurse says, and she smiles. "That's James. Came to us about a month ago - used to be an army medic. He wanted a change of pace." She nods, and she pats the back of Steve's hand - the one without a drip. "I think you two would get along."

Steve shrugs, coughs, and smiles at her reassuringly. "Thanks, Renee." He says, looking down at his food as she leaves. Once she's gone, and the door is closed behind him, he looks back to James, still sitting at the computer, the stack of files beside him considerably lower now. And then he looks up, his eyes catching Steve's, and Steve blushes, head snapping back down to his dinner, pushing mashed potatoes around his plate. When he sneaks a glance back up a second later, his heart beating considerably faster, he finds that James has gone back to the computer - but there's a definite curve to his lips, a smile that pulls his lips up, and Steve hopes to god that someone just told him a joke or something.

He forces his eyes to his food, and tries to eat.

~*~

One of the surprisingly plentiful perks of having connections with the hospital staff: he has pillows. More pillows than he knows what to do with.

Due to his previous history, the doctors want to keep him in until they know what the hell happened to him; he'd been having a dry spell in concern to hospital visits lately, hence why everyone is so _worried_. He wishes they weren't, but Sam, his named next of kin, thinks it's for the best.

But Steve doesn't want to be fussed with. Admittedly he feels like if he stood up he would pass out, and if he sits up too fast he kind of loses the ability to breathe, but that's why he's happy to sit tight in his lumpy hospital bed for the time being. He just doesn't want to be messed with.

So he buries himself under the pillows and cushions he'd been given, and hides. He does manage to hear the door to his room open and close, and he frowns, only burrowing further into the lumpy mattress.

One cushion is removed, the one right over his face, and James looks down at him, looking like he's about to burst out laughing. "Time to take your vitals, Mr. Rogers."

"Fight me." Steve replies, glaring up at James, despite how gorgeous he is.

James snickers, and begins moving the cushions out of the way, setting them down by Steve's feet - which, actually, is kinda nice. His feet were getting cold. "Maybe later." James replies, and Steve huffs.

"My vitals are fine, James. I'm good. Look, the machine hasn't made any weird noises in hours--" Steve says, free hand gesturing to the still-beeping machine by his bed, a sigh on his lips.

"Bucky," The nurse corrects him, to which Steve narrows his eyes. Is he fucking with him. "And I'm just the messenger here, Mr. Rogers. Higher ups tell me to take your vitals, I take them." Bucky shrugs, holding Steve's wrists with two fingers and his thumb, eyes drifting to the watch on his chest.

"Steve." Steve corrects him in turn, and Bucky looks to him, and smiles.

"Steve." He nods, and he smiles. "Well you're right, your pulse is normal." He says, and his eyes flick to Steve's chest, and the watch, and back again. Steve tries to breathe normally. "And your resps are pretty good too. How do you feel?"

"Like I should be at work. Or at home. Not being pestered." Steve says, but Bucky must be able to tell that it's half-hearted, because he smiles. Steve thinks he doesn't mind if he's being pestered Bucky - Bucky is hot. And he's nice. And he smells good. And his hands are warm.

Or hand, actually. Steve notices that he's only used the one - and then he notices that the other is metal. But he isn't going to mention it, frankly. Not his business.

"If you sit tight for another day or so, you'll be back at home, or at work, not being pestered, in no time." Bucky responds, and he chuckles softly. His smile makes Steve chest feel funny - and it shows, the machine giving a few odd beeps before it settles again.

Steve blushes, and Bucky frowns, looking at it, though when he sees Steve's bright red face, his shoulders relax. Steve hadn't noticed they'd hunched up.

"I'll leave you back to cushion mountain." He smiles, patting Steve's hand once before he moves away, leaving the room.

~*~

Sam comes by, and he brings banana bread.

"How're you feeling?" He asks, taking the seat beside his bed.

Steve shrugs. "Chest hurts, I guess. Sometimes I feel dizzy if I sit up for too long - the usual."

"The usual." Sam echoes, shaking his head. He can never believe how nonchalant Steve looks when he's sick, but he's known him long enough now only to worry if Steve worries too. "Guys from work made you a cake, but they couldn't decide how to ice - artists, man. One of them wanted to do a Starry Night kinda thing, someone else - that girl, Sharon? - she said you'd prefer more of a Warhol type thing. I said how about 'get well soon' and they looked at me like I'd grown a second head, so I think the cake should be ready tomorrow."

"Banana bread is good." Steve shrugs, and he smiles as he takes a bit, popping it into his mouth. He happens to glance out of the window as Sam tells him about them mixing different frosting colours, and catches Bucky peering in, a frown on his face. He quickly looks away, and Steve notices the tips of his ears turning red. Had Bucky been staring?

Steve blinks, and looks back to Sam, trying his best to stay focused. When he looks back a minute or so later, Bucky is looking at his computer screen, focused once more.

Sam stays for about an hour; seeing as Steve's only been in for a day or two, there's not that much for Sam to fill him in on. A few minutes later, there's a knock at his door, and Bucky pushes inside with a tray. "Got your food for you. It's meatloaf - I think?"

Steve gives a small smile, and he wrinkles his nose as he looks down at the food. "Oh my god. Can that even be called food?"

Bucky chuckles a little, and he shrugs his shoulders, pouring out another glass of water for Steve. "Who knows." His eyes catch on the banana bread, and he smiles a little, though it seems somewhat sad. "Your boyfriend bakes?"

Steve immediately blushes. "He's not my boyfriend." He says, and Bucky looks... relieved? No - Steve must just be imagining it. "But he does bake - he makes a mean banana bread. Try some." Steve smiles, nodding towards it.

"I'd love to, but I gotta run." Bucky smiles softly, the tips of his ears a little red again. Steve notices his hair is a little more neat this time, his sleeves rolled up, showing off more of that metal arm. But again, Steve doesn't ask. "A lot more patients to see. We're a bit short staffed tonight."

Steve nods, and he smiles. "Go save some lives." He says, and Bucky laughs, smiling over his shoulder at Steve as he goes.

~*~

At three o'clock in the morning, Steve wakes up, coughing his lungs up - or he feels like it, at least. It rouses him from his sleep, and he doubles over, coughing and spluttering - he tries to take in deep, heaving breaths, tries to sit up straight, but his coughing quickly folds him in half again.

And then there's a hand, firm and a little cool against the back of his neck, easing him upright. Another one, warm, solid, settles against his chest, helping him to sit up straight. The cough ceases, but he still struggles for breath - until there's an inhaler being pressed between his lips, and he breathes deeply, hands shaking a little as he reaches to take hold of it.

"Deep breaths," Bucky assures him, rubbing his back, his free hand resting on the bed, close to Steve's thighs. "Take another deep breath for me, Steve."

Steve complies until his breathing is evened out again, his chest aching, but breaths coming easily to him. Bucky smiles a little sadly, squeezing Steve's shoulder, but as he turns to leave Steve clings to him, inhaler still held in his shaky hand. "Stay? Please?"

Bucky looks at him for a long moment - Steve knows they're short-staffed, that Bucky is probably needed in a thousand different places, but in all of Steve's years in this hospital, Bucky is the best he's ever met since his own mother, and he doesn't want to be alone right now.

"Of course." Bucky says, and he takes Steve's hand, holding it in his own as he takes the seat by Steve's bed. "I'll stay - of course."

Steve nods, settling back into the bed, clinging to Bucky's hand until sleep eventually takes him.

~*~

Bucky is gone when Steve wakes up, and he's glad.

He's a little embarrassed, to be honest. A lot embarrassed, in fact. He piles himself under his cushions again once his morning vitals have been taken and he's talked to a doctor about what happened the night before, and he sleeps a little more.

He wakes when he hears the door click shut, as if someone had just left - or come in, he supposes. He blinks as the cushion over his face is removed, and Bucky smiles down at him. "Steve." He says, and Steve glares again, though there's not half as much heat in it as they day before

"Fight m-" Steve begins to say, before he breaks into another coughing fit.

Bucky lifts him up swiftly, sitting him up straight, one hand on his back and one hand on his chest, yet again. He splutters a little, and Bucky rubs his back, sighing softly. "You shouldn't bury yourself under all of those." He warns. "Your chest is probably fine, but if you start inhaling a tonne of dust it's gonna make it bad." He says, and Steve splutters a little more.

"Fight me." He wheezes, as Bucky takes his pulse, pulling a stethoscope from around his neck to listen to Steve's back, and his chest.

"I would," Bucky says, smiling softly as he tucks the stethoscope back behind his neck and scribbling something on Steve's chart. "But I know I'd win."

And then he's gone, and Steve laughs a little weakly as he moves the cushions to the floor.

~*~

They discharge him a day later, when the coughing has stopped and his vital signs are steady, and the cake that his workmates made him has been handed off to the staff. They tell him to rest, and maybe work from home for a little while, and they hope they don't see him anytime soon - which Steve appreciates, because he doesn't want to be in the hospital either.

Except...

When Renee comes to collect his hospital gown and bed sheets, he clears his throat a little, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Is Bucky in today? I mean - James. Is he here?"

Renee smiles like she knows something he doesn't, and she shakes her head. "He doesn't work Saturdays, I'm afraid. But he came in early, left you that."

He nods, looking across at the table next to his bed, where Sam's banana bread had once been. There's now a cupcake, pale pink with white frosting, and a coffee sitting beside it - Steve knows it's from the coffee shop downstairs. On the side, written in what he assumes to be sharpie, there's a phone number, and the words "fight me?" written underneath.

Steve smiles as he shoulders his bag, wedging his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he holds the gifts in both hands. He arranges with Bucky to meet at the diner on Lincoln street that night - although inside it, rather than behind it, where Steve usually fights people. Steve can agree that inside would be preferable; as long as Bucky's paying.

He does.

Steve gladly repays him with kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> Any questions, comments or prompts can be sent to [my tumblr](http://liionne.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
